


What Becomes of the Broken

by Morbidocity



Category: Thunderfrost - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 10:32:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbidocity/pseuds/Morbidocity





	What Becomes of the Broken

Blood. Pain. Suffering.

It's all he can remember of the day prior and it's all he wishes to forget but the memory stings sharp in his mind and he knows that he will not be missing it anytime soon. The prizes of yesterday's event are clinging tight to his skin, as they always will be but he does hope and pray that the dull pain will dim with time. They've yet to heal and every little twitch of his mouth sets a fire of pain alight inside him, his entire soul screams with pent up rage and hatred. 

There is nothing that he can do to dismiss his own torment, to dim the suffering and shed light to relief. It is here as it will always be here in one form or another and there are those who will not let him forget it for a single second. He has tried, tried to pull the stands from himself and rid his body of this earned torture but it is no use, no means would be able to cut these binds save for that of the one whom placed them there to begin with. 

He knows it is a lost cause for there is nothing that he could say nor express that would allow for his wretched brother to undo what has been done. It is an unspoken truth that can be seen in those storm hued eyes whenever the Son of Odin comes to pay him visit that he has given up on the redemption of his Trickster brother. How many times had he given Loki the chance to redeem himself? How many times had he himself been betrayed? Loki is no fool, he can see just how spent Thor is just by peering into his very heart. 

This is his punishment and Loki has earned every bit of what he has been dealt. Thor was gentle with it, kind beyond all of what Loki deserves, but that did not do much to ease the way that the needle had passed through skin over and over and over again until his lips, those which had spun tale after tale of treachery, were sealed. And when it was done Loki had been brought back to the same old chambers that he had grown up in and sealed away for none to see and none to interact. Loki had always prided himself in that he needed not a constant companion. He did not need friends and he did not need allies, the Trickster worked better by himself. That had been then and this was now, his fate sealed off by a strong wall of Odin's magic and confining him to this one room for all of his days. 

One would argue that his sanity had long since been gone, that his crimes were acted out of nothing but pure insanity. The truth of the matter was that Loki never was insane. He had been wounded by the betrayal that he felt and that betrayal will lead even the best of people to their most sickening ends. He often wondered how fate would have acted out had the roles been reversed and Thor been the son who had been wronged. But then it never was Thor, he was the Golden Boy and Loki was the black sheep. 

It's the dead silence that bothers Loki the most, there is no noise in this bubble of Odin's magic. He cannot hear the sound of the birds chirping and he cannot hear the sound of the gently rushing water outside. It this lack of noise that begins to drive him from his sanity, that plunges him into the darker portions of reality. There is no one for him. Never will there be anyone for him. He is abandoned, alone, lost. Forever. 

It begins with the tugging of the binds holding his lips together. Perhaps, just perhaps he could tug them free. He cares not if he must rip the skin to remove them, at least then he would be free. These binds prevent him from doing a number of things; eating, drinking, speaking. Odin's bubble around him prevents him from withering away, it gives out a sort of energy that fuels Loki's life and keeps him living, something that the God detests. If he cannot relish the taste of the golden apples that sit fresh on his table or taste the bitter bite of the wine that sits untouched on his bedside table then Loki would prefer nothing at all. 

He has made a mess of himself now and he knows it without the need to look into a mirror. He fears his reflection, what he'll see waiting there for him. It will be nothing more than the ghost of his former self, after all. He is sure that he is paler and thinner that what he used to be and his lips must be raw and mangled, the thick cords that bind them together crusted with dried blood and slick with the fresh as he continues to tug and rip. 

The days drag on and all Loki has to occupy himself any more are the books that he has collected since he was a little child. He revels in working small spells, that of which he can still construct with the small amount of magick that the All-Father has allowed him to keep. He grows tired of them though, the same spells and the same books worked day after day until days turn into weeks and weeks melt into months. 

He's lost track of time now but he knows that it has been long. Thor has not come to visit since the night that he took Loki's words away from him and Frigga has not visited longer since. He had thought that if anyone would take pity and visit it would be their mother, it only shows just how wrong he was.

When only a day over six months has passed since Loki has lost his speech and seen not the light of day, he begins to grow desperate for contact. He tries at first to call out, a part of him hoping that someone, anyone would hear and would rush his way to see whatever was the matter. But no words escape his lips and all he can form is grunts and groans from behind tightly bound lips and the frustration of it all only causes him to pull the stitches further and induce more damage. It is then that an idea comes into that brilliant little mind of his that is dwindling on the brink of insanity.

The fallen son saves his magick, allowing it to build up until he has enough of it stored to produce one final clone of himself, a clone that mirrors what he used to be instead of what he is now. It is beautiful in all with the porcelain skin and the bright but cold emerald hued eyes. He gives to it his speech, wanting for once just to hear someone speak but the words that he has for himself are nothing near kind.

He allows it to stay. Loki never dismisses his clone nor does he even think to kill it off, it becomes special to him, a creature that will always be there for him. Never has the clone spoken a nice word towards it's fashioner but it takes only that of which it's caster thinks. The thoughts and the critics that it spits back to him day after day are nothing other than Loki's own thoughts towards himself, a further spiral into insanity. 

It progresses to a point of desperation, the need for Loki to feel something, anything. He needs to be able to feel the contact of another person, needs to feel his body being used and taken in all forms of the words. He cannot cry out and he cannot speak, he can only listen with hot tears in his eyes as his clone pushes him forward so that his face is pressed roughly to the messy sheets of his bed. "It is pathetic how the Son of Odin has fallen this far." 

It's a close duplicate to his own voice, dead on and spot perfect but far, far colder. He welcomes it, arches underneath the cold words and the hateful gaze that it sends him as the clone leans over his bare backside and takes him without any sympathy. A red hot spark shoots up his spine at the rough intrusion but it does not stop there. A harsh rhythm of pushing and pulling is set and Loki finds himself being pushed hard into the mattress. "You are nothing but an impurity, a wasted soul that has wrought nothing but suffering upon those you have touched." 

His pale fingers clutch tightly at the wrinkled sheets and he lifts his head just a little to look up to the sealed door across the room. One particularly rough thrust and his arms have given out sending him face first into the sheets once again. There is a bruising grasp on his hips as his clone continues the rough fucking into him. "You do not deserve to live." It's snarled into his ear now and Loki closes his eyes as the fingers latch themselves around his throat, choking and constricting but never entirely cutting off the flow of air as he hoped desperately that they would.

"Loki?" It's a voice that he hasn't heard in over half a year and the sound of it sends a shiver down his back. His brutal fucking has stopped, buried hilt-deep inside of him and unmoving as Loki tilts his head up again to look over to the owner of the voice with tear filled and lust hazed eyes. "Loki, what is the meaning of this...?" Of course he would ask, only he would be dim-witted enough to not put two and two together. 

His hair has grown since Loki had last seen him, not much but notably longer. His blue eyes are vibrant and dark as the storm and Loki notes the way that his fingers tighten around the grip of Mjolnir at his side. Thor takes one step towards his defiled brother and the clone behind Loki disappears in a melt of smoke, he suddenly feels empty both in sex and in magick. The bed dips with Thor's added weight and a strong hand is pressed to the small of Loki's back. He's sickened, he must be.

"Brother..."

It's all there in Thor's voice and Loki knows that he has come to forgive Loki, to take Loki back and 'fix' him again. He's not sure that he could go back to it, however, to allow Thor to coddle him and 'fix' him like the big brute likes to think he's capable of. But all it takes it Thor's warm embrace around him and Loki is crying, clutching to the ridiculous red cape fastened around Thor's broad shoulders and in turn this is all it takes for Thor to realize that his brother has been broken. 

Broken. 

Thor intended to mend it.


End file.
